


Snack on a Stick

by Anonymous



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Humor, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 07:30:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19807597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Bellamy hasn't had a blowjob in a long time, he tells Clarke and she gives him oneBP for praise kink





	Snack on a Stick

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in the kinkmeme flash round (July 2019) on a whim/last minute. Needed quite a bit of editing, so if you actually read it over there (um, I hope this is an upgrade, I believe it is) you’ll see quite a few changes. 
> 
> Light and fluffy with a sprinkle of angst
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> /// Tw: excessive use of the ‘f’ word

As universal truths go, Bellamy is certain about two of them.

> **ONE** , there is nothing — nothing — more relaxing and revitalizing than a good and long blow job after the day he had. 

Scratch that. After the year he had.

The sad fact is that Bellamy hasn’t had a blow job in so long... so long he doesn’t remember when or where or the partner precisely. It’s been definitely longer than he is willing to admit to anyone at this point. 

He is not ashamed of it; it is nobody's goddamn business but his, but still. He doesn’t want to be pitied. He doesn’t think he is to be pitied either. His life’s just been off track lately. 

Whenever Murphy or Roan brings up “ _So, how’s the sex?_ ”, chances are they are all tipsy or want to brag. When it is Bellamy’s turn to tell, and all eyes are on him, watching him intently, waiting for the juicy details of his latest sexcapade, he winks, charm dialled up and plays along.

Like they used to for years. 

But unlike in the past when he was still wild and more willing to share, today, his default answer is “it’s been a while” and wink, or “a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell” and wink, letting them believe he’s still got it. 

And they whistle and tease him, and call him Zuko, in reference to his old nickname from high school. (“ _Oh ho ho! Zuko eats pussy for breakfast._ ” “ _Zuko must have scored a four if he is so secretive._ ”) Bellamy doesn’t bother to correct them that, in fact, he has been telling the truth and it had been _a while_ ; more than a month to be precise. And a month turned into two, then four and eight so easily, he lost count honestly.

As a grown man in his late twenties, it feels stupid. He doesn’t want to brag. It is that simple.

There had been a time (at his lowest) when he felt the weight of it so intensely, crushing him and pushing him under without the sense of an escape and he found himself on the brink of choking from the wave of heat flooding him, silently gasping for air.

(There is a good reason he keeps a water bottle nearby at all times.) 

Maybe his friends don't buy his act all the time, but so far they have never called him out for it. Some days he thinks Roan is more perceptive when he grows silent and gives him the look, at times he even goes as far as to launch into a new story, drawing the attention away. (Bellamy is grateful for it.)

He doesn’t exactly crave for the sex either that much. With everything else going on in his life, dating a stranger or even hooking up with them hasn’t been his utmost priority. 

The past year has been full of surprises and rather stressful for him, to say the least.

His sister had moved away, and although she is technically still on the same continent (up in Alaska), she is a minimum two time zones away. She might as well have moved to France.

And to make matters worse, the decision had been so, _so_ sudden; one day he’d had a sister in the same city, and a week later he hadn’t. They hadn’t had a chance to talk about it like normal siblings do either. Or well, like it used to be normal in the Blakes’ household.

Octavia texted him, _Bell, I’m moving to the West Coast, Port Heiden, AK_

What The Fuck. He looked up Port Haiden on the spot.

_West Coast??_

_My ass._

_Port Heiden???_

_What. The. Fuck._

**me** O, Google Maps says Port Heiden is in fucking Alaska

 **me** ALASKA

Her reply came almost instantly.

**Octavia** I know! Isn’t it great, Bell?

No. It was not great. 

He didn’t respond. Instead, he opted to sulk at home and drank an entire bottle of bourbon he’d been keeping for special occasions, hidden away on the top shelf of their pantry.

His sister packed her belongings in less than a week and was on a plane with her girlfriend, Niylah 10 days later.

Things haven’t gone exactly his way for quite a while now, and in all honesty, it had started even before his sister decided to move away. Still, it is his sister’s move that suddenly tilted everything on its axis and uprooted his life. That is the moment he still remembers like it happened yesterday.

One would think one life-altering moment for a year is as bad as it can get.

If only.

Three months later and Bellamy’s favourite teacher and mentor — and dean of Ark U — the late Mrs Vera Kane passed away. The new dean (a fresh blood relocating to Arkadia from Boston, having no insight into the faculties or people’s competencies whatsoever) had appointed his long term rival, five years his senior and massive faculty bully, Cage Wallace as his new superior. 

Bellamy knows that Cage will eventually climb the ladder and move to New York or Seattle or Texas, somewhere far away. The pay is still good and Bellamy is only a year and a half away from getting his doctorate.

#

He toes off his boots first when he arrives home, chucking the keys into the small wooden bowl under the mirror. 

He is dead tired. He promised Clarke to go out for a drink and she should be knocking on his door in about an hour, wriggling her hands and smiling up at him with her eyes... eyes so blue when the light hits them at the right angle — they are as blue as the cloudless spring sky.

He sighs, removing his jacket next.

He’s halfway to the fridge when his phone dings with an incoming text. He takes it out of his left back pocket and puts it down on the kitchen counter.

**Cage** _Blake, I need you to substitute for Tsing first thing on Monday_

Monday was supposed to be his day off after weeks of working his ass off TA-ing for him, and Cage knows that. 

Dammit. 

_Bing!_

**Cage** _I can ask Emerson, of course, but —_

Fuck Cage, honestly. He is playing this game of pretend good samaritan for months now. Bellamy could refuse but he’d find any and every opportunity to bring it up and mock (or worse, humiliate) him in front of the professors and paint him as some kind of lazy asshole to the new dean.

He takes a bottle of water out of the fridge, loosens his tie and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, palms flat on the counter as he stares at his phone. 

He quietly breaths in and out.

The vein on his forearm is jumping left and right from the weight of him.

**me** _Sure. Just text me the details._

The extra money won’t hurt.

He takes a sip from the chilled water, releasing a long sigh, and rakes a hand through his face. His palm is cold from the bottle, it feels good. Helps him focus on something else, positive thoughts, and relax a little.

“Shit.”

One. Two. Three. Four.

A sigh.

“Shit, shit, shit,” and then to no one, in particular, he says, “I need a blow job.”

“I think ... I can help you with that.”

And there she is, in the middle of his living room. She is wearing black leggings with an oversized, light blue sweater which is hugging her curves perfectly. Her blonde hair is up in a loose bun — the one that gives her the cutest look imaginable, exactly the way he pictured her — with a slight blush to her cheeks.

Bellamy and Clarke have been friends for longer now than they’ve been rivals in the early years of college. 

It was the stupidest rivalry, no one really remembers who started it, or why. Maybe that’s why they had realized pretty early on they were better as a unit.

Today, she is one of his closest friends if not the closest and the best. They even fake dated once, on her request, he pretended to be her boyfriend for a week to get a pushy brunette off of her back. 

As far as he can remember that’s the first time he imagined a potential romantic future with her: flashes of them cuddling on the couch, cooking together, holding her hands (waffles), a kiss on her lips.

He never acted on it but he loves her. The timing somehow was never right and he more or less made peace with it; it’s pointless to dwell on it. 

Back to the present moment, Clarke is in his living room and hasn’t moved an inch. A faint blush is still evident on her cheeks after knocking the breath out of him with those words — something he so desperately needs now that she said it. 

His chest tightens and he gulps. 

“What?” his voice is barely a whisper. She cannot possibly mean what he thinks she means, she can’t —

He could easily think he has made it all up but then she says it again, more determined, eyes pinning him down, unblinking and expectant.

“I can give you ... a ... BJ. A blow job.”

She is so beautiful. Always. 

His heart rate picks up again.

“A ... blow job?” He swallows, recapping the bottle and letting his head hung for a moment before he blows out some air through his mouth, bracing himself before he pushes his body away from the counter. He takes a few careful steps, bringing himself closer to her as the seconds tick by. 

“Clarke, you cannot possibly mean —“

She squares her shoulders and lifts her chin in defiance.

“I have you know that yes. _Yes_ , I did mean giving _you_ a blow job. Good ol’ cock sucking, a blowie, a mouth hug, Hoover Maneuver, you name it.”

 _Fuck_. The way she talks about sucking dick, his dick, speaks to a forgotten part of him, waking him up from a year-long slumber; making him want to jump her like a panther. Take her against the wall. Eat her out. 

His dick agrees; he’s been getting harder ever since she uttered those sinful words to him for the first time.

“Fuck.”

She draws her bottom lip under her teeth, nibbling a little. She cocks an eyebrow at him. 

He knows that look.

She wants to be taken seriously, and honest to God, he takes everything seriously what she does or says in general... but this?

This. 

Is. 

Too good to be true.

“You look stressed, Bell. I know you, so, _so_ much. It’s written all over your face. It is in the way you hold your shoulders, it’s — crooked. We have to meet Monty and Roan and, you know, the gang!, in an hour, and I don’t like grumpy Bellamy. Do you like grumpy Bellamy, _Bellamy_? Do you?”

He laughs. ”Okay, okay, you don’t have to build your case for me. I am stressed, you know me better than anyone.“

She cocks that eyebrow again, now even higher, as if to say _And??_

“And - ah - a blowjob sounds pretty great actually, it’s been — “ _Nevermind_. “I do want a blowjob, it just feels like I’m taking advantage of you or something.”

She scoffs, and grabs for his hands, both of them and practically drags him with her to the living room until they reach the sofa.

“Please, if you ever, even the slightest would be taking advantage of me _against my will_ , fear not, I will tell you.”

He is positive that his mouth is curving up in a smile. This woman is impossible. 

“Now sit and — “ she taps a finger against her chin, conspiratorially like that one mastermind in a movie, considering her next move.

“—do you want to unbuckle your belt or would you rather if I did that for you?”

His dick is living its own life apparently because it stiffens more at her offer, blood rushing to his cheeks and ears and to his southern region.

“Fuck,” he exhales, then swallows. If this is the only chance he can get with her, sue him but he wants everything she is willing to offer.

“I— “ _Fuck_.” I want you to do it.”

“You want?”

He grimaces, she is getting way too bratty with him as the time passes, he starts to believe she might enjoy a little too much his discomfort.

He sits on the sofa as instructed, but not before leaning close to her, making sure his hot breath hits her cheek as he says, “Yes, I want _you_ to do that for me.”

Her breath hitches, which is a good sign, he thinks.

She drops her thin scarf on the floor and moves to face him, placing her hands on his splayed thighs and lowers onto her knees slowly. 

His skin tingles in anticipation, his dick is visibly hard (very hard) now, tenting his pants.

Clarke licks her lips, so quick he almost misses and bites on her lips as her palms slide up and down his thighs, rubbing, smoothing the wrinkles away in his pants before reaching for his belt, unfastening it for him.

“So — um— some ground rules? “ Her fingers are deft as she works on his buttons, patting the side of his thigh twice, signalling him to lift his ass and help her shove his pants down.

 _Fuck_ , Clarke sucking his cock is becoming _an actual_ reality. 

“Yeah,“ he nods in agreement.” I guess, we need some.”

He notices her body shaking as she snickers quietly.

“I’ll start, you can grab and pull on my hair if you want, Bell. Here, “ and she reaches for the hair tie keeping her bun in place.

_Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck._

Next thing he knows she is shaking her hair like some Baywatch girl minus the skimpy outfit.

He reaches out and brushes the tips of his fingers across her cheek, desperately needing to feel her skin, her warmth, how soft and real she is.

“Okay. And — you just tell me if I go overboard there... “nodding at her head” because I might.” He sighs, a weight lifting off of his chest. “ _It’s been a while._ ”

She smiles up at him and reaches for the waistband of his boxers, tugging it down in one swift motion, freeing his cock.

He is fully hard now but he thinks he might get even bigger, considering Clarke has often an unpredictable, magical effect on him; seek higher things and all that.

He is a little nervous. His erect cock is full-on display in front of them, Clarke’s face is hardly three feet away. She is seeing his cock in its full glory for the very first time and yet, she is so silent.

Is she disappointed? 

By the form or the girth or the length of it — what what what WHAT — his brain goes into an overdrive, considering all the worst possible scenarios, like _fuck, she thinks my dick isn’t pretty enough_. He has to know what is wrong with it. 

If anything is wrong with him. 

He is gearing up to ask something, anything, even if that sounds fucking stupid but he cannot take this dragging silence any longer and not knowing why she is so —

“Wow.” 

And another heavy weight lifts off his chest, melting the dread away: Clarke Griffin likes his cock. 

Judging by the awed expression in her eyes, she not only likes his cock, but she is also mesmerized by it. She is a part-time artist after all, and those artist’s eyes are roaming up and down his shaft, taking in every little detail of him — from the wrinkles, to the tiniest freckles, to the seeping precum at the tip — hungrily. 

Soon, he learns she also likes to touch his cock and not only look at it and she does it with such a reverence it almost kills him. 

He shivers.

Her pointer finger is tracing patterns along the sensitive skin, starting from the base until she reaches the tip, and not long before she closes a hand around him, enveloping his cock in her palm, squeezing it, feeling it out, pumping it once and then twice.

Bellamy is so ready. So so ready, anticipation thrumming under his skin; the wait of having Clarke’s lips around the head, feeling her tongue and teeth work him is excruciating.

She breaks the silence with an exhale, cheeks flushed, eyes boring into his.

“I’m sorry, I got distracted.” She blows out some extra air, the wind of it catches his skin.

“Okay, I’m going in.”

Fuck. If he wasn’t in love before, he is now. 

There is a furrow growing between her eyebrows, her nose crinkled lightly up in concentration — and it makes her look so goddamn cute on top of the heated atmosphere of the room — that it unexpectedly, makes him shake with uncontrollable chuckles.

She narrows her eyes at him to cut it, and the chuckles die in his throat the moment she swipes her tongue in a line along his shaft (from tip to base) and attaches her lips to the tip.

Fuck.

She sucks on the tip like some goddamn popsicle, just the tip, nothing more yet, getting it all wet and sensitive.

“Fuck, Clarke,” he moans and brushes a hand against her hair, thumb grazing the shell of her ear.

Her teeth and tongue are biting and soothing as she is working him up; _goddammit_ , she still only has the tip of his dick in her mouth.

He shudders, hands tightening around the armrest of the sofa. Fuck.

She sighs happily as she releases him, and sits back on her heels, grinning. “You liked that, huh?”

He huffs out a laugh and nods.

She blinks at him, breaking eye contact, which is also his cue to prepare himself and take a big breath before she leans forward and takes him deeper. Surprisingly, she does none of that yet. 

She grabs her sweater by the bottom edge and pulls it over her head, leaving her in a tiny white tank top and a nude strapless bra under it.

“It’s got a little hot in here. You don’t mind, do you?”

She winks at him, rubbing her hands on his thighs up and down as if the friction is something she needs to warm her palms. For him.

Fuck.

Before he even registers she moved, she is already nosing at his pubic hair, finding the base of his dick again, her hot breath fanning his skin, making him even harder.

“You’ve got such a pretty cock, Bell,” she says, breathless. “It’s gorgeous.” 

Fuck, he wants to kiss her so bad.

But she swirls her tongue around the head, effectively spooning it into her warm mouth.

The sensation is already overwhelming. 

He cannot wait for her mouth swallowing as much of him as she can.

He groans and lets his head hit the back end of the sofa; silently counting from 1 to 10 in his head, needing a moment to calm himself not to let go just yet.

He inhales and exhales in slow pants, enjoying the feel of Clarke’s mouth around him. His hands slowly find their way onto her exposed shoulders, rubbing encouraging patterns onto her skin there before he buries his fingers into her curls and tugs.

“Fuck, Clarke. That feels so good. You’re amazing. Your mouth is so hot and amazing.”

As he massages her scalp, her mouth eases around him, taking him deeper inch by inch. 

She moves her body closer on her knees, allowing a better angle for her ministrations.

He groans. 

“Cl - _Clarke_ ,” he moans, gripping her hair tighter finally and a small whimper leaves her.

“Do that again, that was hot... _so hot, look at you_ ,” he praises, invoking a string of small moans from her.

“You like that? You like that, huh? You do really like my cock.”

She squirms and quietly whimpers as she moves a hand to the base of his cock first, then to his balls.

He wishes he’d had enough foresight and asked for her permission to touch her body when they talked about ground rules and stuff because fuck it, having Clarke sucking his cock is a-amazing but he wishes more than anything to reach down and touch her, feel her more ways than just one, slip a finger or two under her panties.

He suspects she enjoys this as much as he does (she squirms and nibbles and sighs relentlessly) but suspecting it is simply not good enough. He has to know how wet she is, how wet sucking his cock makes her. He also wants — more than anything — to ease the pressure she must be already feeling; he wants to feel her cunt fluttering around his fingers as he comes.

She is doing so well.

Fuck. Maybe they can have another time like this. (They must.)

Clarke's deft fingers are playing with his balls as her mouth keeps moving up and down his cock, switching between peppering him with small kisses, leaving small bites and spit all over him.

He doesn't think he can bottom out like this, they’d need a little bit more practice, but fuck if he doesn’t want to. 

His grip on her hair is growing tighter and tighter, and she bites him harder for it before lapping the small bite marks away with her tongue.

“Aaaahhh, Clarke, you are killing me there. Wish you could see yourself and see what I see. Your wicked little mouth taking my cock so hungrily like it’s your last goddamn meal. You were starved for it, weren’t you?” He flushes. “You were starved for my cock.”

He thinks he hears an affirmative ‘uh-huh’ which makes his heart soar. 

The suction on his cock intensifies and he feels his balls strain and tighten, ready to bust his load.

“Fuck, Clarke, I’m gonna come,” he pulls on her hair in a warning.

She growls and taps his thigh, communicating without words that it is okay to come into her mouth.

He almost chokes on a breath by the thought of it, filling her mouth with his come — “Fuck, I wish I could return the favour, you know. I’d have my tongue buried deep inside you as you —“ her whimpers are adorable and sexy and are just the right amount to work him over the edge.

Fuck.

He really wants to fuck her; he hopes the blowjob is an opening to something more — ideally inclusive but not limited to sexual favours only. He is craving for something more beyond their friendship — now that he is more certain than ever she wouldn’t be opposed to it.

He comes with a shudder and a groan, hands fisting in her hair.

When he comes to, the tip of his dick is still in her mouth, now soft, he catches her wiping some of the come away from her chin with the back of her fingers.

“Sorry,” she says, softly, still smiling, resting her chin on his thigh, “It was too much, I couldn’t—“

“Hey. _Hey_ , it’s okay. You did good.”

She chuckles and releases his soft cock with a small pop before laying her head on his thigh, using him as a pillow.

 _Good grace_ , he needs a moment to fully regain some sort of composure.

Their breathing is back to normal eventually. When she speaks again, she tilts her head, facing him.

“Did you enjoy the sight of me kneeling before you?”

He groans, running a hand through his curls. 

“God. You have no idea. More than anything… But I bet ... I would enjoy it even more if the roles were reversed.” He winks, she gives him a half-smile in response. “As in, if you were sitting on my sofa and me on my knees between your legs —“

“Yeah, yeah, got it.” Her mischievous eyes flick down to his cock, still on display before them before her gaze finds his again. “Well, I hate to break it to you, Bell, but you owe me one now.”

He huffs out a laugh. 

“Or — more than one.”

He reaches down and tucks his cock away. 

“Yeah — I’d like that.”

“Today?”

“Hungry much?”

“For you? Oh... you have no idea,” he drawls, catching her hands in his and pulling her up and onto his embrace. “New rule: kiss the girl first. And — don’t let her leave your bed without an orgasm.”

“Now we’re talking,” her answering smile is everything.

> ( **TWO** , Bellamy Blake is more than a little bit in love with Clarke Griffin. And if the way she beams at him after he kisses her is any telling, there is a good chance that she feels the same.)

###


End file.
